


Out of the Shadows

by Rinsom



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Horror, I don't necessarily like hurting alfred but I seem to do it alot anyway, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:56:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinsom/pseuds/Rinsom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America takes a dare to stay overnight in a haunted house, but when fear is all that remains what's left to keep the shadows at bay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Dude, you sure you're not just lost?" asked America, glancing down at the hastily written directions.

Australia responded without looking over, "For the last time mate, I know where we're going. It should be just around the bend."

America looked out the window, watching the dark crimson and brown leaves sent flying by their rental car. They'd been on the same two lane road, winding their way around and between wooded Virginia hills for a half an hour it seemed, but he didn't remember the people at the motel saying their destination was so far out of town; the houses at this point were few and far between, and they hadn't seen a car since passing that graying church a few miles back. He looked back down at the slip of paper in his hands and the small pieces which dotted his blue jeans. Brushing away the notebook fringe he'd been subconsciously picking at, he settled further down into the seat. "Yeah, well you said that ten minutes ago too."

"Pay no mind to America. He is simply anxious," added Russia from the back seat. Although America couldn't see Russia's face, the mocking tone was clear.

"Yeah, anxious to prove your ass wrong," America countered, propping his feet up on the dashboard.

"Relax, it's just one night," Australia said, then with a grin glanced over at America, "Or you can back out now if you want".

America crossed his arms and laughed, "Like hell". Yeah, and like hell he'd admit that his stomach was in knots. Damn his ego. He looked back out the window and leaned his head back against the seat. If he had been smart he never would have let Australia and Russia talk him into the bet to begin with.

It had been during the last world meeting. He'd went to a bar with England and Australia (because there was no way in hell he'd be responsible for getting England back to the hotel by himself again) and after a beer or two had started talking ("bragging", an inner voice sounding suspiciously like Matt supplied) about the latest film he'd worked on and things went downhill from there.

"So you've covered a lot of topics, right?" Australia had asked, staring down at his glass contemplatively.

A nigh incoherent mumble had came from England, who'd been sitting on the other side of them, knocked out cold and drooling on the bar.

"Yeah," America had replied, a little surprised. He admittedly could, and often did, talk about his films for hours, but it was a rare event for someone to actually encourage it. Of course, he hadn't been about to complain. "I mean, I've been doing it for a while now, so that just kind of happens, you know." He'd picked up his beer and started to take sip, then sat it back down with a frown. "Why?"

Australia had shrugged. "Just thinking. You've shown me a lot of them, and yeah, I remember you doing lots of different stuff, but I think you've missed one," he'd said, with a smirk, glancing over at Russia, who'd found his way to the same bar ("follow, who's following?" he'd said, with a saccharine smile) and who sat on the other side of America with several shot glasses of vodka. "Or avoided one, maybe?"

"I don't care how much Francis tries, I'm not-"

"No, No!" Australia had exclaimed, holding up his hands as if to ward off the images that came, unbidden, to his mind. "God, don't even say it. If it's France I don't want to know."

England had given a snort and a mumble, going on for a near minute.

America and Australia had found themselves staring at him for a moment, but Russia had downed a shot of Vodka and spoke, smiling at America, "I don't believe he was speaking of that. Perhaps instead he was referring to the supernatural."

"Huh? Yeah, I-"

"Not aliens," Australia had interrupted, then rushed on, "You live with one. That would be like filming 'big brother'. I mean ghosts, ghouls, stuff like that."

America had laughed loudly, hoping to hide the fact that he had just felt his stomach lurch. "Yeah, well, none of that stuff is real anyway. It's just someone making up a good story. It'd be a waste of time."

"Mate, I know at least half of your stuff is fiction. And besides that, don't those stories normally have a grain of truth?"

"Yeah, someone probably heard a mouse and freaked and-," America had replied, trying to ignore the moisture he already felt on his palms.

Australia had laughed, "Yeah, you should know about that, huh?" He reached over and put an arm on America's shoulder, leaning in towards him. "But if it's like you say, and all that stuff is fake, then it wouldn't be a problem to take on a new project, say a debunking of sorts," Australia's grin had widened. "Unless of course, your disbelief isn't the problem at all."

America had jerked the shoulder Australia was leaning heavily upon, in a half-hearted attempt to shake him free, then gave up and simply shrugged. "Sure. Why not? I'll make a few calls and get some people together and-"

"Nyet," Russia had interrupted. "You will go alone."

The other two nations had turned towards Russia. America had frowned. "You know, it's not that easy being a one man film crew. And I don't exactly go for the whole Blair Witch look."

"Why not?" Australia had asked. "Expand your creative horizons." He'd swept his left arm out in a grand gesture, nearly knocking over a bowl of peanuts in the process. "Or just go Paranormal Activity on it and set up a bunch of cameras."

"Unless," Russia had said, "Your worries have little to do with your artistic credibility, but everything to do with what it is you cannot see. In which case it is proven that you are as paranoid and as much of a coward as-"

"I'll do it," America had said, perhaps a little too forcefully, considering the way Australia had jumped. He'd glared at Russia for a minute before turning back to his beer. Noting Australia's raised eyebrows he'd paused, drink halfway to his lips, and put on his most arrogant grin. "Can't let people think that about the hero right?"

A hard shove against his shoulder sent America's head thumping against the passenger seat window, pulling America out of his thoughts… and any thoughts at all for a moment. "Hey drongo. Get your head out of the clouds," Australia said as America rubbed his head, "there it is." He was pointing towards a dingy two-story coming into view on the left side of the road. He slowed the car and pulled off onto a grassy patch on the shoulder.

America opened his door and stepped out, taking care to avoid the steep drop-off. By the time he had gotten around the car Australia was already standing at the iron gate, staring up at the house.

"This is it?" asked Australia without turning around.

"You picked the place Oz, not me," said America walking up beside Australia and putting a hand on the gate.

"Yeah well, it's just not quite what I was expecting," he replied, looking past the fence to the overgrown yard and dilapidated house. "The picture was a bit more…" and he motioned with his hands, "I mean, yeah, it's old and run down, but somehow I was expecting something a little more-"

"It's the internet," America said, with a grimace, looking up at the house. It did look relatively normal. He still felt an uncomfortable twinge though as he stared up at it, as if it was looking back at him. He'd made a rule, a long time ago, to never be the first to look away. Despite that, he found himself averting his gaze, looking back down to the ground. He stuck his hands in his pockets forcefully. "Of course they're going to make it look worse than it is."

"Besides, appearances can be deceiving, da?" said Russia who had come up behind them, smiling.

Australia smiled back and grabbed America's arm, pulling him across the road. "You know," he said in a low voice, glancing back towards Russia. "When we planned this I didn't think about the fact that I'd be stuck with him for twenty four hours." He fished around in his jacket pocket for the car key, then continued, "Sure you don't want to back out? I think he might just be scarier than anything in there."

America shook his head, reaching into the trunk and handing a box to Australia. "We can exchange horror stories tomorrow," he said, smiling. "I'm sure you and Ruskie will have a great time."

"You're a bastard."

"Takes one to know one."

America watched Australia's back as he walked across the road, then glanced up at the house, letting his smile drop. He looked back towards the trunk with a shiver. He wished he could agree with Australia about who was facing down the worst, but he also couldn't deny the fact that the cold he had felt from Ivan in the past was no comparison to the chill he got from that house.


	2. Chapter 2

When America walked back over with a canvas messenger bag and a small cooler, Russia was bent, leaning down to examine the latch which held the gate closed. “I do not know why,” he said, shaking the gate lightly, “but the latch will not move.”

“Ooh,” said Australia, looking over at America and wiggling his fingers. “It’s a sign.” 

America sat the cooler on the ground and stepped over to stand beside Russia. He studied the latch and the hinges for a moment. “Or rust,” he said, gripping the gate with both hands. He shook it once, twice, and then hit the latch with a tempered forward blow. It swung open slowly into the yard with a sharp metallic ‘screak’. America turned to grin at them.

Australia shrugged, “that too.” He picked up the box he had sat on the ground and entered through the gate. The path that led up to the house was only slightly less filled with near waist high weeds and briars than the rest of the yard. They caught hold of Russia’s coat as he followed behind Australia, clinging as if in supplication. 

Or as if trying to pull him back. 

America swallowed, or tried to, rather; he found his mouth overly dry at that moment. It was a simple thing really, to follow behind. It should have been at least. He knew that. Every fiber of his being knew that; yet, somehow, standing on one side of the gate, watching Australia and Russia walk further away from him on the other side, something tugged at him, as much as the weeds were tugging on Russia’s coat. But that was ridiculous. Stupid. And yet…

He frowned, looking back at the ground in front of him, at that place just beyond his feet and just beyond the gate. The feeling was familiar, he realized, but it made no sense. 

He felt as if he was standing on the edge of a precipice cliff. 

“Coming, yank?” Australia asked, stopping to turn around. “Not afraid already, are you?”

America opened his mouth for a retort, breathed in instead slowly, then closed his mouth. He stood frozen for the moment, despite the exasperated, impatient look Oz was aiming at him, searching out some way, without saying, to convey… then America noticed Russia looking at him as well, and America turned his gaze towards him with a scowl, steeling his jaw, squaring up his shoulders and pushing himself forward into the waist deep forest with a single step-

And froze almost involuntarily as his foot hit the ground, waiting for… something, and feeling a little shocked when nothing came. He glanced up at Russia and Australia, meeting their bemused expressions, then cast his eyes around the weeds at his feet. “Should have brought a snake bite kit,” he muttered, under his breath, watching his feet as he began to walk. The others turned back around, thankfully, and didn’t see Alfred’s fight to keep his shoulders from raising up defensively as he followed behind. He rolled them, to try to ease of the tension, physically force them to relax and stop-

The small dark shape which he saw off to his left was gone before he could even turn his head to look. 

There was nothing there, of course. Of course. He licked his lips. Of course there was nothing. He hadn’t heard anything, other than their own footsteps going up the path, so there wasn’t anything. Probably just the light playing tricks on his eyes, he thought, unable to keep himself from glancing out of the corner of his eyes every few seconds, watching the tall grasses sway in the cool fall breeze that had been picking up throughout the day. Which was stupid, absolutely stupid. There was absolutely nothing to see there, nothing at-

A touch fell on his shoulder and with a completely unheroic squawk he found himself running into Russia’s back, who turned around suddenly, his own look of shock flooding his face. America breathed heavily, frozen in place as Russia looked past him and with one hand slowly reached out over his shoulder. “The branches in your country, America, are as clingy as you are.” And his face broke out in a smile as he pulled at the low hanging branch which America could now see was caught on his coat. 

Australia was of course, finding the whole thing hilarious, bent over with an arm wrapped around his stomach. “Okay,” he gasped after a minute. “Looks like the branches add some creepiness after all, right yank?”

“Yeah, yeah,” America said, “Laugh it up. We’ll see who’s laughing tomorrow.” 

“Oh yeah, with you jumping out of your skin in the front yard, we’ll see alright,” And he turned around with a wide grin still plastered on his face. 

Russia continued to study him for a moment.

“What?” America asked, as forcefully as he could. 

Russia’s eyes shifted to the right, looking out past America once again, focusing in on something before turning back around without a word and walking up the path. 

America blinked, and cast a quick glance behind himself, before following him. His hands gripped the cooler just a little tighter, and he stopped himself when he felt the plastic start to bend. 

Russia was just messing with him. That was it. He’d seen a crack and was trying to force it open. Despite that, he still found himself wishing he’d managed to place himself in between the two other nations. 

“Eh, it’s creepy enough,” said Australia, as they climbed the steps up to the front porch, carefully stepping over one that had completely rotted through. “But I still think it’s a bit of a let down so far.”

“What were you expecting, a thunderstorm on cue?” Russia replied, as he went to open the front door. He frowned as the doorknob turned but the door stuck in its frame. “We are not in a horror movie. Real horror carries more,” he applied his weight to the door and pushed, causing the door to pop open, “subtlety.” He turned to smile at America and held the door open, “After you.” 

America grinned back at Russia. Time to seal over the cracks. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said as he jauntily stepped in. The smell of decay, old and musty, hit him as he stepped through the door, making him slow. It took a minute for his eyes to catch up to his nose. The room was mostly empty, lacking furniture completely; what it lacked however, it made up for in dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked as he walked forward slowly. It seemed stable enough, but he took care anyway, keeping his eyes down and his senses sharp for weakened floorboards. 

“Well, this is more like it!”

America turned his head to see Australia grinning as he peaked around the doorway, nodded and turned back, taking in the room as Australia and Russia came in behind him. Despite the mid afternoon light outside, the room was dark, the fault of heavy curtains which covered the front windows. Yeah, that was going to be the first order of business, bringing as much light into the place as possible. He sat down his cooler and walked over to the window. Gingerly, he pulled the drapes open, waiting to be assaulted by spiders, but instead overcome by a cloud of dust that left him coughing and gasping for air. He waved a hand in front of himself and lifted up his shirt to cover his face, taking a momentary comfort in the sunlight and the scent of Tide.

“That better?” he asked once his lungs had recovered, turning around. The room certainly looked more distinct in the daylight. Old rose print wallpaper covered the walls, peeling off in places, and white plaster and small dark forms littered the floor. 

“Don’t know,” said Australia, frowning. “I think it had more ambiance before.”

“Before the windows were open you could not even see. How would you know if it had ambiance?” Russia countered. 

America ignored the argument starting between Russia and Australia, instead finding himself staring down at the shapes on the floor before walking over to the closest one. A dead bird. Or what was left of one at least. America cast his eyes about the room, noting what the darkness had been hiding. Every few feet a small body or skeleton lay, a veritable wildlife mortuary. Not even whole bodies. There was a leg here, a wing there, fur and feathers joining the dried spots and long smears of blood darkening the wooden floor, as if something had been playi—

“Hey, mate,” America jumped a little at the hand on his shoulder and turned around sharply to see Australia. “You still there?”

“Huh?”

“Been asking you where you want your equipment set up,” Australia said, his expression a strange mixture of concern and puzzlement. 

“Oh, yeah,” America laughed and scratched his head, which was tingling slightly. He must have stepped into a spider web and not noticed. “Just set the case over there,” he said, pointing to the space beneath the window. “I’ll take a walk around in a bit and figure out camera angles and shit.” 

“Right. Don’t tell me you’re cracking up already? You’ve still got,” Australia looked down at his watch and smiled, “over twenty-four hours to go”.

“Just getting in the zone,” America said, tapping his head.

Australia looked at him somewhat doubtfully, glancing at the small decaying body America had been staring down at. His face tightened for a moment, and he opened his mouth.

“Ah, good.” Russia said, interrupting Australia before he could begin to speak, “I would not want to miss hearing your panicked phone calls this evening.”

“Sorry to disappoint your sadistic commie ass, but it ain’t happening,” America replied, turning away from the broken appendages and bloodstains. He walked over to the cooler and dragged it towards the rest of the boxes and equipment, then knelt down to begin unpacking.

“Ah, but I think it will,” said Russia, who leaned up against a wall, his arms crossed. “America is too afraid of his own shadow. I remember your paranoia well.” 

America stood up, his fists tightening, and turned towards Russia. “The only phone calls I’ll be making will be to complain about how sucktastically boring all of this is.” 

Russia shook his head, grinning, “I will answer the phone and hear your terrified screams, and I will simply lie back and listen. It will be music.”

“In your dreams Ivan.” America glared at Russia, old mannerisms coming back all too quickly. The room had just turned a few degrees cooler. He knew it, could feel it.

“That is a promise, da?” Russia said, as he pushed off from against the wall, approaching the window.

“Okay, that’s enough. Cold war’s over.” said Australia as he stepped in between America and Russia. “Time to get down to business. You remember the rules, right?” He asked, locking his eyes onto America’s, desperately, in an attempt to avert crossfire.

America pulled his glare away from Russia and relaxed his stance. “Yeah, twenty four hours on the property. Filming certain rooms at certain times. Gotcha.”

“And you’ve got the packets right? The envelopes?” Australia said, rubbing his arms briskly in an attempt to get rid of the goosebumps that had sprung up. He glanced between America and Russia, curiously. 

America ignored the glance and answered his question with a nod. “Yeah somewhere,” he said as he knelt down and opened one of the boxes. He dug around for a minute before pulling out a small stack of envelopes and waving them above his head. “Right here.”

“Okay, so open them after we leave. Just remember to film yourself reading them.” 

“Why?” America stood, crossing his arms. The chill in the air seemed to have gotten worse. He was going to have to wear layers that night under his bomber. 

“So we know you didn’t just open them and ignore them.”

“Hey,” America bristled visibly. “I take my projects seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Australia said, holding up his hands. “Sorry to insult your artistic integrity.” 

America smiled and looked satisfied, either not catching or ignoring the sarcasm thrown into Australia’s statement. Australia sighed. “Okay, so check you’re mobile.”

“Huh?” 

“God, I had forgotten how dense you can be.” Australia rolled his eyes at the blank expression on the other’s face. “Make sure you have signal.” 

“Ah, right, sure,” America said distractedly, rubbing his arms. He didn’t think it was possible but the temperature seemed to be dropping again. He looked up at Russia, but his expression had calmed. A cold breeze danced across the back of his neck and entered his ears, a harsh frosty whispering. He shivered involuntarily. “This place sure isn’t sealed up very well.”

“What do you mean,” Australia asked, a little confused at America’s actions. “Feels fine in here now that your two aren’t trying to revisit the twentieth century.”

“The draft.” America rolled his shoulders, discomfort climbing at being met with two confused stares. “You guys don’t feel it?”

“The temperature is perfectly normal,” Russia said, his brows furrowing. America glanced over at Australia who nodded his head in agreement.

America shrugged and laughed, then stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels. “Man, must just be where I’m standing.”

They all stood there for a moment, in semi-awkward silence before Australia prompted, “Your mobile?”

“Ah, yeah,” America said, reaching down and digging through the messenger bag slung across his shoulder. “Got it.” He pulled the phone out and checked. “Yeah. No internet, but the signal’s okay for calling.” 

“What else do you have in there anyway?” Australia asked, as America stuffed the phone back in the bag.

America could feel his face warming up slightly. “Nothing really.”

“Ah,” Russia smiled. “Did America bring a security blanket?”

America’s eyes narrowed. “As I already said,” he grumbled and reached back into the bag to pull out a handful of candy bars and a few comic books, “boring night.”

“You didn’t already have enough to eat in that?” Australia asked, not completely shocked, and tapped the side of the cooler with his foot.

America feigned surprise. “You can never have enough candy.”

“Thus the reason you are getting pudgy,” said Russia, reaching forward to poke America in the stomach.

“One to talk, big guy,” America said, as he dodged Russia’s hand. “And I’m not pudgy”.

“Well,” Australia said, looking down at his watch. “As fascinating as talking about your health problems are Yank, it’s getting late. Fairly sure we won’t get lost going back, but I want to have enough time that it won’t matter.”

“Geez, Oz.” America grimaced. “Where’s your sense of adventure? When you talk like that you almost sound like Arthur. Way too responsible.” 

“Hey,” Australia glowered and punched America in the arm. “You start talking like that and I might have to kill you myself, to hell with letting the ghosts have a turn.” 

America laughed loudly. “Better, but it’s still there. Arthur would have threatened me too.” 

“No,” Australia chuckled. “Arthur would be the one who summoned the ghosts to begin with. But have fun.” 

“Alright, go already,” America smiled, feeling his teeth beginning to clench as the momentary reprieve slipped away. “And same goes to you.”

Russia put his arm around Australia’s shoulder and squeezed. “Da, America. We will have a good time.” He grinned and turned, pulling Australia along with him.

Australia turned his head and mouthed, with a stricken look, ‘help’. 

America just grinned and waved, enjoying seeing Australia squirm a little. If he was going to have to go through hell, then at least he could take pleasure in the fact that he wasn’t alone. No doubt Australia would be getting a solid education in the fine art of vodka consumption.

The moment Russia closed the door, however, his humor disappeared. The world suddenly seemed much quieter, despite the fact that he could still hear the other two outside. Russia’s loud laugh pulled further and further away as they walked down the stairs and down the path. America latched onto it, clinging to the sound of car doors opening, then closing, and finally the engine starting up and a bit of gravel being shifted as they pulled out. The sound of the car became softer the further it went into the distance, until finally a still suffocating silence replaced it. The cold crept in further, reaching into him and twisting his gut, as he felt the shadows closing in from-

“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them, all the while trying to ignore the tremor in his shoulders and voice. “Time to get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, chapter 2 rewrite is done. This one gave me a lot of problems for some reason. I think it's cause I ended up tweaking so much in the end. Ah well. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

America licked his lips nervously and hunkered down beside the cardboard box. He had no intention of watching them leave, and did his best to avoid looking out the window as he lifted items out and placed them on the floor. If he didn’t see something, that made it less tangible. He could tell himself, at least for a little while, that he hadn’t actually heard the car drive away, that he wasn’t alone yet and that they’d be coming back, having forgotten something, or deciding that they didn’t want to go at all, and that any minute he’d hear Russia’s distinctive, heavy footfalls thumping on the porch stairs or Australia’s breathy whistling. He knew from experience that the illusion would only last a few minutes, but he wasn’t about to let it go, not yet. Of course, he thought, looking up from the bag of cords in his hands and across the room to the small broken figures, he wasn’t really alone, was he? A small twisted smile twitched at the corner of his lips and a chill started to creep into his shoulders. He shook his head hard, forcing away the strange sensation.

"That totally wasn’t funny" he said out loud. His voice echoed back at him, somehow less comforting than he would have liked. It gave the room a cavernous quality that threatened to engulf him just as surely as the silence. He scooted just a bit towards the window, pushing himself into the beams of light that filtered in through dirty glass.

“Nothing to get freaked out over though, right?” he asked, reaching into the box and pulling out a video camera. A jolt of fear, like an electric shock, coursed through him an errant thought later. What if someone had answered back? He was met, however, with silence; save for his own breaths going in and out, harsh to his own ears. And then suddenly… he laughed. He startled, as it echoed across the room loudly, but couldn’t stop the next in coming. America quit trying finally as the second was followed by more and more until he found himself holding his aching stomach as tears streamed down his face, wondering why in the hell he was laughing at all, but too overcome by the relief it brought to want to stop again. Everything felt brighter, warmer, and he felt as if something had been lifted off his shoul-

Thud

America’s laugh stopped abruptly. He stayed bent over, clutching his stomach, the warm ache that had filled it being replaced by a cold clench, the wet tracks running down his face feeling chilled. He stood, wiping roughly at his cheeks.

Thud

America swallowed as he sat the camera down beside the box and felt his legs moving forward, in disagreement with his both his head, which was telling him instead to run out the front door, and his heart, which was telling him essentially the same thing, but in a much higher, more frantic, pitch. He walked across the room, feet dodging blood streaks and feathers, to the doorway in the opposite wall. The area beyond was dark, the sunlight coming in through the front window somehow only barely inching past the door-frame. A flashlight would be good right about then, he realized, hesitation almost physically pulling him back; somehow, though, the thought of turning his back on the doorway seemed a worse option than actually going through without a light. Of course, there was always something to be said for backing up slowly, but by the time the idea had crossed his mind he was already close enough to touch the door-frame. He gripped it softly enough to avoid cracking the old wood, but still felt a slight give, to his chagrin.

He tried to swallow again, finding his mouth and throat too dry, and slowly eased his way into the opening. The floor creaked as he leaned forward, and he stared openly into the space as his eyes tried to adjust back to the darkness, searching for even the smallest hint of movement. The space however, a hallway with a row of doors on one side and a narrow staircase going up on the other, was still and empty, save the dust, occasional piece of newspapers, and small winged body lying prone. He stood there for a moment, still feeling somewhat frozen in place as his adrenaline spike slowly eased off, then breathed in, held it, and let it out, his shoulders sagging in response. He stood a little straighter, releasing his hold of the now slightly indented door-frame with a sheepish smile, and shook his head. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. He turned to the right, walking into the hallways, towards the nearest door. He was getting himself wo-

The motion was sudden and right in his face, a whirlwind of movement coming at him. He put up his arms, intending to block, but flailing instead as something caught his hair. His arms swung right and left, never hitting their mark, and he pulled them back in towards himself quickly. He stilled, gasping, leaving himself in a defensive position, and realized that his eyes were squeezed shut. He opened them, and let his gaze dart swiftly from side to side. He turned, heart hammering in his chest as he searched out his attacker only to find absolutely nothing. There, he thought, after a second, looking up at the ceiling and catching movement.

He felt his shoulders sag then and he brought his hand up and clutched at his hair for a moment in relief. It was just a bird. Just a stupid bird. He watched as the thing flew from one end of the hall to the next, ducking a bit as it passed over his head. Poor thing had probably gotten caught in the house, couldn’t find its way out, and had flown into walls in its panicked attempt to escape.

"This is stupid," he whispered, nerves still too cracked to let him speak at a higher volume. He was being stupid he thought, shaking his head at what he had to have looked like just a moment earlier, all because of a bird who was probably even more scared than he was, and all because of a house that probably wasn’t even- that definitely wasn’t haunted at all. America pulled himself out of his defensive position and stood a little straighter. He was no coward. He knew it and he was going to prove it. He had won his independence from an empire. Wild animals? Hah. Davy Crockett had nothing on him. He had survived nearly ripping himself in half and had stared down the atom bomb as it stared back at him, laughing in the face of world annihilation. He was the U.S. of fucking A. and he wasn’t going to be scared off by a bird and a few campfire stories. There was nothing else in the house, and he was going to prove it. This was going to be one of the best debunkings ever, damn it! He turned around and strode back in through to the front room.

Of course, he realized, letting go of a bit of his fire as he studied his equipment and the packet of envelopes, in order to do that it really would have been better if Oz and Russia hadn’t given him the stupid assignments. He’d been thinking on it for a few days and he still wasn’t certain how this whole thing was going to come out looking in the long run, especially if his little episode a minute previously said anything. His face heated just a little and he shuffled his feet, squatting down to re-sort his battery packs, which had gotten tossed around with the movement of the car. He was going to have to wait a bit anyway for most of the equipment, at least until he figured out the best places to set the cameras up. Obviously one in the hallway would be good, but he had a limited number and couldn’t really set one up in every room. America glared down at the pile of envelopes he’d left sitting on the floor. At least Oz could have let him know where he’d be reading the stupid things so he could set up his stuff beforehand, although, he thought with a shiver, if the size of the pile told him anything it was that Oz intended for him to be all over the place. America grimaced, with a whine. There were at least ten envelopes, and that was just judging from a glance.

He gritted his teeth, cutting the whine off sharply. He was letting things get away from him again. The situation was what it was: Oz and Russia wanted to scare the hell out of him, of course there’d be a huge ass chunk of stuff to fuel that. And of course, he thought, the longer he waited to actually get anything done the more amo they’d have on him later. ‘Well how do we know you weren’t cowering in a corner somewhere?’ he could just hear Oz asking tomorrow. He glanced over at a small camcorder sandwiched between the battery packs and cords.

Show time.

"Okay," he said, after turning the camera towards himself and hitting the record button. “Time is,” and he glanced down at his watch with a grin, “4:34. Figured it’d be best to take a look through this place first to see what I’m dealing with. It’s kind of old and dusty, but so far nothing really to report, other than the fact that it’s hella drafty and has an issue with birds." He turned the camera around and panned slowly across the space. "So far, I’ve seen the front room," he said, then walked forward into the hallway. "And this place. Haven’t been in any of the other rooms yet." America stood in the hall, looking at the various doors along the wall; some were open, some were closed. "So let’s see what’s behind door number one,” he said, walking towards the closest room.

It was smallish, perhaps a bedroom at one point, or a parlor, and, like the hallway, was dark; the window was covered in a thick draping curtain like the one in the front room. He walked over and moved the drape, smiling at the way that light spilled across the floor, through the murky white glass, then, remembering the bird in the hall, sat the camera down and went for the latch on the window. The metal moved easily enough, but the window itself was more difficult, sticking with disuse inside the frame. Eventually, with a little shifting from side to side it slid upwards, but stuck halfway. He pushed and pulled a few more times, but stopped when he could get it to move no further. It was better than nothing at least. He stopped focusing on the window itself and knelt down, peering out the opening to the view beyond.

The room looked out onto a garden, or at least, he thought, what used to be a garden. It was overgrown, but here and there he noticed traces of what might have once been well-tended space: a few delicate looking fence posts and clusters of dark, dying flowers, not yet choked out by weeds. He leaned forward and stuck his head out slightly, breathing in the fresh air. Well, outside air at least, fresh, he thought as he breathed in, his nose curling just a little, maybe not. The scent was a mixture of plants and decaying leaves, along with something… something indistinguishable but familiar. Something that tugged at some part of his mind that… he frowned, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration as he closed his eyes and breathed in once more. It was similar to It had its own odd aroma he wasn’t expecting, a mixture of plants and decaying leaves, along with something indistinguishable. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration as he closed his eyes and breathed in once more. He shook his head. He couldn’t quite place it. But it was similar to something in the house as well, and it wasn’t pleasant.

America shrugged, then turned and picked the camcorder up. “So, aside from a weird smell, all clear in here.” He walked out the door into the hallway and repeated the process with the other three rooms, going in one by one, lifting the curtains and opening the windows. The next two were smaller than the first, but the third, at the end of the hall, was the kitchen. The smell, now that he was aware of it, lingered through all of them. He was walking back towards the front room, planning to continue his efforts on the second floor, when something caught his eye in the first room he’d visited. He stepped through the door, his head cocked to the side, letting the camera slip downwards in his puzzlement. The window was back down.

America hesitated for a moment, before walking over to it and setting the camera on the ground. It’d probably loosened it when he worked with it so much the first time. He put his hands on the window and lifted, once again meeting the same resistance as before. He pushed it up as far as he could, then watched it for a minute, then feeling his typical impatience, he reached forward and, as gently as he could, pushed downwards. He paused when it stayed firmly in place, then pushed a little harder, adding more pressure until it inched downwards. “Ah, well,” he cleared his throat. “Um…” he bent down and picked up the camera again. “I probably just pushed it up further than last time.” He walked back towards the doorway, then stood there for a minute when he reached it, staring back at the window.

He was focusing so intently on the window he almost didn’t notice the movement in the hall. Almost. His head jerked around on instinct. There was nothing there. Of course there was nothing there. Nothing like a small figure. A little boy.

But there had been.

America stood in the doorway, paralyzed, staring out into the hallway.

"Idiot," he said, not even noticing his voice cracking. "Nothing. You didn’t see nothing. Didn’t hear nothing. Didn’t-" But wasn’t that the problem though? He didn’t hear anything. Hadn’t heard anything. He licked his lips, nervously, and shifted his foot outwards. “That’s right. You didn’t. That’s cause there wasn’t nothing to hear. It was just the light.”

All the same, he decided that perhaps he would save the upstairs for later. He needed a break; all the dust from opening the curtains was getting to him, and really it was probably time to eat anyway. And he really needed to check out the envelopes first before he did too much anyway. Yeah, that was the reason going into the front room was such a good idea, he thought, as he stepped out into the hall, keeping a tight grip on his camera, placing it in front of his chest like a shield. Not because that space made him feel calmer, more collected, not because he needed that front window and the patch of light. Of course he didn’t need it, it’s not like he was scared or anything. Of course he wasn’t. Heroes didn’t get scared of stupid things like-

Then he noticed the camcorder he’d sat down earlier, now moved to the opposite side of the box with its small red recording light shining brightly.


End file.
